Chapter 17
"The Turret"
It took several hours to explain everything that needed explaining. There were so many people who wanted to know what happened that Dumbledore’s office filled quickly, with Ministry officials, Aurors, members of the Order of the Phoenix, and the Professors who had fought in the battle.
Dumbledore smiled like an imbecile throughout it all. Severus and Harry had explained as much as they were able to, and Severus immediately saw the respect Harry had garnered in the eyes of the ministry, his colleagues, and his friends.
Severus would think back, later, and realize the same difference had shown in their eyes regarding him. For the moment, it was enough that none of them glared at him in disdain, even if none of them did openly acknowledge him.
Strangely, he found he could find peace in that.
When they had explained as much as possible, until they’d gone over the story a dozen times, Severus grasped Harry’s arm and escaped mid-argument. They left the Sorcerer’s Stone in Dumbledore’s cheerful hands and together, made their way down the phoenix stairwell, ignoring the protests of the gathered officials.
The open walkway of the Headmaster’s turret made breathing easier, that was for bloody sure. Severus took in sharp, cold air into his starving lungs, his numb fingers resting on the parapets. He didn’t bother listening to the loud voices coming from the door beyond the phoenix stairwell, and gazed out at his home.
Harry spoke into the silence. "Do you hear what they’ve started calling it?"
Severus didn’t have to ask what ‘it’ was. "Aside from ‘the worst bloody night of my life’?
Harry laughed tiredly, and tapped a cigarette out of the constant supply in his pocket. His fingers shook only the smallest bit when he lit it. "The Stone War."
The Stone War. Lovely.
Hogwarts had long since quieted down, though even from where he stood, Severus could hear the faint victory music going on in Gryffindor tower. There were strobe lights flickering out of Ravenclaw tower, and he was sure the Hufflepuffs and Slytherins were downstairs, rocking the foundation of the castle.
He couldn’t blame them. Their futures were secure now that Voldemort wasn’t a constant threat. They would have a chance at normal life, thanks to his and Harry’s sacrifices.
He wondered if they even realized what had been sacrificed, or merely didn't care, that they could be celebrating so painlessly.
The young man was quiet beside him once again, watching the grounds where only a few hours before bodies had lain. The only occupant on the green was a slightly drunk Hagrid, crazily dancing with Hooch and Trelawney; three sheets to the wind and going for a forth. The moon was low in the latest part of night, a million stars blanketing the cold black but already lightening, with encroaching dawn. Severus knew soon enough the sun would break free and rise to begin another day.
Severus’ voice sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet hall. "You’re leaving, aren’t you."
Harry looked up, all quiet green eyes and limp hair, though still managing, despite the sweat and rain, to stick up. He let out a slow stream of smoke through his nose, eyes never quite meeting Severus’. "Yes."
"When?"
"As soon as possible."
Severus didn’t turn his eyes away from the sprawling grounds. For his own sanity, he couldn’t. "To France?"
"Yes. My shop is waiting for me," Harry murmured. His voice sounded oddly gruff, his fingers too tight on the stone ledge. "I agreed...to stay, until the threat was gone. This was all...its too much. I can’t go back to being the Boy Who Lived, not after what...after I’ve seen the peace in obscurity. I miss my shop. There is nothing left for me here," Harry whispered, and his eyes flickered to Severus’, almost...almost pained, before back down.
"Your work is your passion."
"Yes," Harry’s fingers tightened all the more. "After I left here, it became my home. Everyone knows me...I have my work, my clients."
"Your life."
"Yes."
Severus rose to his full height, his heart thundering in his ears as he squared his shoulders. "Then there is nothing left to say."
Harry’s dark, unreadable eyes came up and met his. "I’m sorry, Severus."
"As am I. Good evening to you, Mr. Potter."
With as much dignity as Severus could possibly muster, pulling the love of the castle around him like a warm blanket, he turned on his bare heel and left.
- = -= -
Harry stared out at Hogwarts, every turret and glass-encased hall, every statue and green strip of grass, and beyond the courtyard, Hogwarts lawn, where dozens of Death Eaters had lain only hours before. He fought to breathe around a strange, heavy feeling in his chest.
The cold was ominous, whisking past his defenses like slippery snakes that wound around his heart and squeezed. He stood here, cocooned in the bosom of a place he had once adored more than any on earth, and felt as if he were a stranger in exile. He put out his cigarette with shaking hands.
It hurt. God, it hurt.
The tears welled before he could stop them, before he could fight them away, and for the first time in his life, Harry wept for himself. The tears came easy now, because he knew in a way that they could never be used against him again. Voldemort was gone, Severus had just stepped back out of his life as easily as he’d stepped back into it there in his shop so many months ago, and Harry...was empty.
Why did it hurt so much?
He owed no one; he was free of the burden he’d carried for twenty four years. He never had to be a battle whore again, used for everyone else’s fancy and then cast away until needed again. For that, he respected himself, and hated himself, and the sobs echoed in the stone hall and out over Hogwarts.
There would be no mercy for him, despite the penance he’d paid. He would just have to carry on, living a thoughtless existence until someone snuffed him out for good. Making his clocks, taking to a cold bed every night, and hoping it wouldn’t be long before he joined Remus and Sirius and the parents he could not remember.
He looked up at the heavens, his sobs shaking his body. His hunger for love was so fierce it threatened to break the foundations of who he was. Everyone he had ever cared for was gone–everyone he had been foolish enough to give his heart to had betrayed him. He had never realized just how deeply he had been cut until this moment–he had been numb before, numb with the pain of what he had endured and too young to understand. Detached, holding his emotions in the stone turret of his soul and guarding them as a dragon would.
He understood now, every nuance of what had been done to him, from the pretty smiles of his friends, the tentative friendship with Draco, and Severus’ ultimate betrayal. He felt dirty and soiled, broken and raped, and Harry, in another first he never thought he would melodramatically succumb to, sank to his knees lest he collapse onto his arse. He pressed back against the parapet and held on to Hogwarts as he finally let go of the towering wall surrounding his heart. He watched as it crumbled and cracked, and the tide of his soul washed free.
He pressed his knees to his chest, his fingers wound in the tight strands of hair still tied back at his neck, and sobbed for all that had been taken from him, the innocence that he had not been allowed, and all he had suffered. Sitting here on the night of victory, the first morning of a new era in wizarding history, and all Harry could do was sob into his hands. He hungered for mercy, for some small compassion, for blindness, for anything that would stop this endless pain.
He wished, in that moment, for death.
He would think later that the deepest desire of his heart had been heard, because Dumbledore, in all of his lime green, blood-stained glory was suddenly kneeling beside him, his beard sweeping the ground beside Harry’s trembling body. "Harry," he murmured, and it was all he needed God! and Harry was pressed tightly to Dumbledore’s shoulder. He was aware of his body shaking, of Dumbledore whispering comforting nonsense into his shoulder, and God help him, he couldn’t have stopped if he tried.
It went on, for some time. He lost track of where he was, lost track of everything but that he was being weak in front of this man whom he hated and loved in equal measure--gasping against him like a child, his tears soaking blood and mortar, cotton and filth, into the sweet scent of Dumbledore’s beard.
But it was okay, because Dumbledore understood. And when Harry had caught his breath, when the misery finally settled back down to hiccups, Dumbledore said in a low voice, "I have never been more proud of anyone in my life, Harry, than I am of you. I have never seen such a show of bravery, of daring, of soul and heart, than I have tonight. You have surpassed every expectation I ever had for you, and everyone else’s besides. You are an inspiration, Harry. I have treasured every moment, good and ill, that you have lived on this earth, and I will take the time I have known you to my heart as the best of my life."
Harry looked at him through the tears swimming in his eyes, content to be held by the older man like a little boy. He couldn’t quite help it when the Headmaster settled his old bones on the cold stone beside him–he pressed his face into that white beard and just let himself be. "I don’t feel so brave."
"Most heroes never do," Dumbledore offered, gently.
"I’m no hero."
"That’s where you’re mistaken. You are the greatest hero this world has, Harry."
Harry’s chin trembled, and he hated himself for it. "I’m not the same man I was, professor."
"Perhaps not. But a new Harry Potter--a different Harry Potter, was born like a phoenix from the ashes. A more mature Harry Potter, a kind Harry Potter, a Harry Potter who does not hesitate to stand up for himself. A Harry Potter who met adversity with his unswerving faith, who persevered and lived despite all that he had endured. You see, Harry Potter, blond and blue eyed or raven haired and green eyed, is still the same Harry Potter at the core."
Dumbledore paused, thinking for a moment, his long fingered hands gentle on Harry’s shoulders. "Most people see the dawn, watch it, are in awe of it," he said, and Harry followed his eyes to the bright glow on the Eastern horizon. "You taste it, feel it, breathe it. You become that which you love–you destroy yourself sometimes in the effort of it, but there is something you don’t realize, Harry. Even though you hurt, you go on–you do not hide from your life, no matter what has torn you. You came to Hogwarts five months ago, and you stayed."
"I thought it would be rude to leave," Harry said in a choked voice.
"Precisely." Dumbledore smiled at him, a little sadly. "I am so sorry for the pain, the injustice you have endured, and what I have done to you. But I am not sorry for the man you have become. I, as do your people, love you, Harry."
Harry’s chin trembled again, and he set his temple on Dumbledore’s shoulder as they watched the sun come up. The golden rays sparkled over the mountains, down over the lake, and across Hogwarts broad lawns until the wet grass sparkled despite the lingering blood
"You know, I forgot to tell you," Dumbledore said, carpet slippers crossed at the ankle and bouncing as he thought. "Godric Gryffindor came to see me."
"Godric?" Harry whispered.
"Mmm. Through the portraits, actually. He said to tell you that he was very proud of you. You made him and his bloodline proud–and now he and Salazar may finally rest."
"They couldn’t rest before?"
"Not until Salazar’s lineage ended. It has been tainted for some time. Godric also informed me that he was impressed over the trial you endured, and that only a....kiss of true love could have let you pass."
"True what?"
Dumbledore’s dimples winked, and he glanced at Harry over the top of his glasses. "Severus Snape is one of the most miserable human beings I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. He is rude, nasty, insulting, egotistical, and absolutely convinced of his own superiority." And just because it sounded so much like him, down to the grain, Harry couldn’t help a small smile. Dumbledore looked overjoyed at the sight of it. "But...he is also one of the most brave and noble human beings I’ve ever known. He hurts over the smallest things–he is so desperately afraid of pain that he shoves everything away from him, so as not to endure it. The...ying to your yang. He is heedless of the gift it is to be alive. Or was, until he met you."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because he loves you, Harry. He loves you, more than anything else. He loves you down to his core." He paused for a moment. "Do not make my mistake, Harry."
"Your mistake?"
Dumbledore’s lips twitched, though there was only a hint of sadness in them. "I was Nicholas Flamel’s tyro, Harry, many, many years ago. I loved him deeply, but I never acted on it. A great deal would have been different in all our lives if I had. Is that what you want, missed chances and regrets?"
Harry shook his head, and swallowed at the lump in his throat. "Can I ask you something, Professor?"
"Of course."
"Did Severus...did he love me....seventh year?"
"My dear boy," Dumbledore murmured, touching his cheek with the backs of his fingers, "He has loved you for a decade–he will love you until the day he dies. Severus, like all the Snape’s, loves once and loves hard." He looked oddly satisfied. "You were just lucky enough to be the one for him."
Harry looked into those eyes, twinkling and blue, lay his head back on Dumbledore’s shoulder and let the rising sun warm and calm the tide within him.
OR
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